The Aeral Adventures: The Door is Opened
by KaterineKasdorf
Summary: Remember the wood between the worlds? Remember all those lakes? What if there were many worlds to enter? What if there were doors leading into them? Another tree... Another world... Brand new adventures waiting to be experienced
1. The Other Tree

The Aeral Adventures:

The Door is Opened

Chapter One

All good stories start at the beginning, and as this is an earnest attempt to tell a wonderful story well, that is where I shall start. If you have read the tales of a place called Narnia, you may recall how Lord Digory and the Lady Polly traveled to a faraway world called Narnia and you may recall their adventures in said land. As you remember, Digory was called upon by the great Lion, Aslan, to plant a tree in Narnia, and if you remember correctly, you will recall that the tree was to protect Narnia from harm for many years. You will also remember that when Digory returned to his own land, he planted a sister to the Narnian tree. You will remember that years later the tree was turned into a wardrobe, and of course, one cannot forget all of the adventures that came from there. This is the tale of another tree, planted in another faraway world, and the adventures that sprung thereof. 

In a world, so far from our own that you would not even know it existed, there was a war. The war was fought between the good King Traeven, rightful heir to the throne of Aeral, and the evil Markin, who was known as the Lord of Darkness. As happens too often, Traeven and his good armies were defeated by Markin and his own. Markin, however, did not kill Traeven, King of Aeral, for he knew that anyone who kills the rightful King dooms Aeral to a quick end, and of course, Markin wanted to be king of Aeral himself. So King Traeven was banished forever to our world, which we call earth, and the Aerals call Rainya. At that time travel from Aeral to Rainya was easily accomplished. Before he left, Traeven cast such good spells over the guardian tree that it would protect his land until his heir could return, and so left his own country, taking with him only a seed from the guardian tree.

In Aeral, all things became dark. Things that should have been remembered were stamped out by Markin and his evil horde. All knowledge of good was erased, Rainya and Traeven were forgotten by the people, and Markin became King of Aeral. But still, a small shaft of hope there was, in the form of the Guardian tree. It was a good that even Markin could not erase, and so, it stood, waiting for the day when Traeven's heir would again set foot on the soil of Aeral, and right would again be known.

Traeven took for himself the name of David, in memory of a king long ago banished. He lived on Rainya and married an Earthling bride, a lovely woman named Lydia and together they bore a son, Joshua. David lived long on the face of the earth, but was sad all of his days, longing for his Aeral. He planted the seed from his guardian tree and watched it grow. On Rainya, it did not have the same powers, but still, it reminded him of home and all that was good. The night that David died, a storm shook the house where they lived, it was as if all nature mourned his passing. The wind beat around the sister guardian tree, and it stood firm. But in the morning, when Lydia went to sit by the tree her husband had loved and mourn his passing, it had collapsed to the ground. It seemed that the tree saw no reason to live if her master was dead. Lydia, knowing how much her husband had loved the tree, caused it to be fashioned into a door for her husband's room. In the room she placed everything that he had loved. The door was carved with intricate designs, designs she had found in her husbands' diary. None of it made sense to Lydia, but it was beautiful, and to her it was her husband, strong and brave, but somehow very sad. 

And so the door was made, and so Aeral waited. Both waited for the time when one who was pure in heart enough would step through the door, and make all things right again.


	2. The Door

Chapter 2

Now Joshua Traeven, son of David Traeven, married against his mother's wishes. Angrily, Lydia refused to see her son or talk with him at all. One would think that David, remembering that his son could perhaps have reopened the door of Aeral, would have overlooked his son's choice of wife and not turned Joshua away, but David was now wholly consumed with his past in Aeral and did not even remember the things that were truly important. Some have said that this was by design of Markin, I do not know if it is so or not. 

After the death of her husband, Lydia became lonely for her son, her last remnant of her beloved David, and decided to overlook past wrongs and speak with Joshua again. It is sad that in life we often do not realize what we have until it is gone, and we do not search for it until it is too late. Joshua and his wife had died a week before Lydia tried to contact them. One can well imagine that Lydia was in anguish. In one swift moment, everything she held dear had been swept away. Well, not quite everything: she was told she had a grandchild, a little girl named Miriam.

Little Miriam came to live with her grandmother in the big house in which her father had grown up. She was good and kind, and at times so reminded Lydia of her husband that she would turn away with tears in her eyes. Miriam brought fullness to Lydia's life that she would never have imagined possible. Perhaps it was because, for the first time, Lydia had someone who belonged only to her and loved her completely. 

Things in the Traeven home progressed uneventfully until Miriam was ten years old, and had lived with her grandmother four years. Perhaps all adventures begin with a rainy day, I do not know, but this adventure starts when the wind was whipping around the big old home and howling like a wolf. The rain was beating against the roof and clattering against the windows. Inside it was as dark as night, the electricity had gone off (a good thing, too, for there is nothing so unromantic and nonmagical as electric lights) the lights had gone off and the old gas lamps had been lit. They cast eerie shadows upon the walls. 

Lydia was sick and in bed, and Miriam was left to amuse herself. She took a candle and lit it, placing it in an old candlestick. She crept out of the part of the house she knew well and headed to the south wing. She had never been inside and now that her grandmother was in bed it was the perfect time. She walked down a long hallway lined on either side by dark walnut doors. She was in the center of the house and could not hear the rain very well, it sounded like the thudding of a giant heart. Miriam placed her hand on the knobs of huge double doors and swung them open. She was in the south wing! Miriam was slightly disappointed at what she saw. From where she was, she was looking at a large bay window with a window seat. The whole south wing was a single hallway! But Miriam had come this far, she might as well look in the rooms. The rain was chanting now:

Come a little closer

Keep on stepping nearer

Destiny awaits

Come a little closer

Keep on stepping nearer

On her left there were several doors, which led to empty rooms. After glancing at them, Miriam turned to her right and walked to the one large double door that was in the center of the right wall.

Come a little closer

Keep on stepping nearer

She lifted up her candle, but could only see part of the door. The frame seemed to be made in the form of a wood thicket, branches intertwined with flowering vines and surrounded the large door. 

Destiny awaits

Lightening flickered through the window, momentarily lighting the hallway, followed by a low rumble of thunder. When had it started storming like that? Miriam lifted up her candle and looked at the knobs, they were in the shape of roses, and underneath each was a keyhole shaped like a teardrop.

Come a little closer

As she tried to see what the rest of the door looked like, a loud clap of thunder seemed to shake the very foundation of the house. Miriam gasped aloud as lightening brightened the hall until it all of the shadows were gone, but the lightning did not go away immediately like lightening usually does. The hall remained lit as if it were daylight or as if the electric lights were on. While the light stayed, Miriam looked at the door. It was covered with many strange figures and carvings. They were tales she did not know and people she had not met. But through it all ran these strange words:

Gentle friend, you who read these words, 

Come within

Pure of heart, you have the keys

Come within

Royal one, rescue us please

Come within

As soon as Miriam read the last of these words, the lightening blacked out and she was once again standing in a dark empty hallway. She was frightened now, and turned and fled from the south wing.


	3. The Door Is Opened

Chapter 3

The moment Miriam closed the door to the South Wing she raced across hallways and pounded down two sets of stairs toward her grandmother's room.

"Grandmum! Grandmum!" She burst through the door and almost toppled over a nurse who was about to walk out. The nurse looked thoroughly startled to see the girl in the room, but Miriam raced straight for her grandmother's bed. "What does all of that writing on the door mean?"

Lydia was really very ill. The doctors didn't give her much of a chance, but of course it did not do for one to tell a child that, especially a child who had lost her parents only a few years earlier. She struggled to sit up in her bed. "Child, you shouldn't be in here."

"I know you told me that, Grandmum, but I saw the door and I just couldn't wait to ask you about it. It had lots of drawings and a poem and …"

Lydia closed her eyes for a moment and tried to understand everything her granddaughter was telling her. The only real fact that seemed to penetrate was that she was dying. So she asked the only thing that she could think of. "Is it storming?"

"Yes it is and the lightening lit up the room and …"

"Child, I don't know of any door with writing on it. You must be talking about your grandfather's door. I had it made when he was died and all sorts of strange things carved into it. But I know there was no writing on it."

"Oh but there was, Grandmum." She said softly, but it had dawned upon her that her grandmother was very very sick.

Lydia smiled softly. The little girl had been such a joy to her. She had such an imagination. "Miriam…" but she was too tired to go on. The nurse had come back and saw how tired her patient was. She gently escorted Miriam to the door. As they stepped into the corridor, a soft voice floated out to them. "I love you."

Miriam would have like to explore the door again and find out if she was right about words, but many things were happening in the large house. Doctors were always rushing in and out. A great many people came to see her grandmother. Miriam wished they would all go away. There came a day when the house was nearly empty. Only Miriam, her grandmother, and the ever-present nurse were there. Miriam was in the library, reading a book when the nurse walked in and knelt in front of the chair in which Miriam was lounging.

"Dearie, I'm afraid I have somethin to tell ya." Nurse O'Kelly said. "It would seem that your grandmother has left us, girlie."

Miriam said not a word, but her book had dropped to the floor and she was staring vacantly at the window hangings.

"D'ya know what that means?" The nurse wasn't quite sure what to think of the quiet girl. She had expected to deal with screaming and crying, not silence. Perhaps the girl didn't understand?

"It means that my grandmother has died and left me alone." The girl's voice was emotionless, as if she was reciting facts that she had learned in school. 

"Well, not alone, love. Your relatives should be here soon, and she's left you this house and lots of money." When Miriam didn't look away from the window and still said nothing, the nurse left the room without a sound. "She'll be needin a little more time to adjust I suppose. But she'll come around."

That is a fact that could have been debated, but one thing was for sure, someone came around. The house was soon full of relatives and people who claimed to be relatives. They wanted to hug and kiss Miriam. They wanted to tell her how sorry they were that she had lost her grandmother. But most of all, it seemed, they wanted to tell her that she should let them take care of the house and money. They swarmed around the place until Miriam felt she couldn't take a proper breath. It may be noted that she had not once shed a tear for her grandmother, and the relations commented among themselves that she was as hard as steel and must be more like her grandfather's unknown side of the family because she certainly didn't resemble any of themselves. 

Miriam never did seem to be able to have a private moment, but, at last, she thought of the South Wing. Surely no one would follow her there. She waited until lunchtime, then slipped quietly up the two sets of stairs and the various hallways until she had found the door for the South Wing. She slipped into its quiet hallway and took a deep breath. She was finally alone! 

It is interesting that we never seem to find adventure, it always finds us. Miriam had not gone into the South Wing with the intention of looking at the mysterious door, but once she stepped into the wing, she was drawn to it as inevitably as an iron pin is drawn to a magnet. She found herself once more standing before the double doors. In daylight the doors seemed even larger than they had on that stormy afternoon, but they were much less imposing and much more beckoning. She glanced at the inscription. It was still there. All that business about pure hearts and keys, what did it mean? 

Miriam decided not to puzzle over it and instead looked at the pictures carved into the door. At first they were all jumbled together, but as she looked at them, they seemed to focus until she could see that they told a story. She saw a king, wise and noble, presiding over his court. She saw an advisor betray the king, she saw an evil-looking army marching on the palace. As she looked at the pictures, she saw that a great war was waged on the palace-grounds, and she saw that the good king had lost. The next picture was of the king standing next to a tree. He seemed to be talking to it, then he took a seed from it. Then the king was gone, and the evil army placed their own king on the throne. When he took power all of the good people in the kingdom were persecuted and driven back, and the good places lay in ruin. As she looked at these things, Miriam began to cry. She cried for her grandmother and for the dear, noble, lost king, but mostly she cried for the people of that unknown country. As the tears dripped from her eyes, two fell on the door handles, and as they did the door made a soft clicking sound, and opened a fraction of an inch. Miriam gasped. The door was opened! Was that what the poem meant about keys? She glanced around cautiously, then put her hand on the knobs, pushed the door open, and stepped through.


	4. Gazaelle of The Wood

Chapter Four

Miriam awoke as cool rays of morning sunlight danced across her face. She sighed and stretched, feeling gloriously at home, then came thoroughly awake with a start. She wasn't in her canopied bed at home, she was lying on mosses that carpeted the base of a large, gnarled tree. The sun was peeking at her from the bare, round hill in front of her. Away past the hill, Miriam heard a slow, steady cadence, the pulsing ocean waves. She knew if she followed the teasing sun, it would lead her to the foaming surf. Behind her was a shadowy, rich forest. It was the kind of wood that was hung with ancient mosses and held the secrets of a hundred ages. But, it was friendly enough that the girl was not afraid.

Miriam tried very hard to remember why she was in these woods near the sea. The images came slowly at first, then rapidly, like an old silent film. She remembered her grandmother's death and all of the relatives crowding around. She remembered escaping from them to the South Wing, opening the door, stepping through, and then there was darkness. She had walked a short way, then curled up on the ground and gone to sleep. It may not have been the wisest thing to do, considering that she didn't know where she was, but sleep she had.

When Miriam remembered all this, she leaned back against the tree with a slight sigh of relief. Just as she did, she felt a soft hand touch her shoulder. Miriam jumped up and ran screaming for the hill. Considering everything she had been through, who could blame her? She heard no sounds of pursuit, so she stopped to catch her breath as she reached the crest of the hill, just where she could see the ocean. Immediately, someone was standing in front of her. Before she could open her mouth to scream or move to bolt away again, the – whatever it was – put its hands on her shoulders and spoke.

"Be silent," Miriam took a deep breath and dared look up at her attacker. The being was a tall woman, a bit taller than what we would consider normal. Her skin and eyes were brown, although her eyes were more woody brown than her skin. She had thick black hair that fell to her waist and was topped by a crown. The crown was carved from a light oak, and added to the feeling that Miriam was in the presence of some woodland princess. Her face had a deep serenity, but her eyes were as watchful as a mother doe's. In fact, she reminded Miriam a great deal of a deer.

Miriam finally caught her breath enough to wheeze out, "Who are you?"

The being smiled. "I am called Gazaelle, Gazaelle of the Wood." And the name fit. "But what is your name, little one? And why are you here alone? Know ye not that there are Banu about?" 

"I'm Miriam, Miss Wood, and I don't know about any Banny or anything like that."

"How did you get here? I see no means of transportation."

Miriam wasn't exactly sure what a mean of transportation was, but she could answer one thing. "Well, I was hiding from the Relations, and then I came through the door."

Up until this point, Gazaelle had been asking questions in the kind way adults do. She wasn't completely paying attention to what Miriam was saying and she answered while seeming to be thinking of other things. In fact, she was thinking of the woods and the trees and all the nice things she wanted to do, but when she heard about the door, everything else faded away. "What door, child? What door did you come through?" she sounded excited.

Miriam cocked her head to one side and thought for a moment. As she glanced around she spotted it. There, on the hill, was the door. It was standing alone. At the house, the door had seemed big and mysterious. Here, it was just part of the hill. The frame, which had been carved to look like trees, really was two trees that grew around and over each other. The handles were really living roses, fragrant and red, and the keyholes were glistening tears. "Why, I believe I came through that door, but it looks so much more…. Real."

Gazaelle stared back and forth between the little girl and the lovely door. "You walked through that door and found yourself in Aeral?"

"Aeral?" as she said the word it was the same lovely feeling she had felt when she woke up in the wood. It was the feeling of coming home. "I've never heard of Aeral before, but, oh… it's a part of me. I know it is."

"The Faithful have waited a long time for this. Yet you are but a child." Gazaelle looked long at Miriam, thinking. As they stood on the hill, a low moaning cry floated around them. It was not a sound that Miriam had ever heard before. It sounded like a wolf's cry, like someone in pain, like a panther's scream. It was really indescribably horrible. Gazaelle frowned. "Banu." She said softly. "Come, we must flee. It would not do for them to know that you are here." Gazaelle took Miriam's hand and led her deep into the forest. Miriam marveled that Gazaelle's feet seemed to glide over the forest floor. She was moving so fast that Miriam was running to keep up, but she did not look as if she were moving at all.

"Miss Wood, wait, who are the faithful?"

Gazaelle spoke over her shoulder as they moved. "The Faithful are the ones who still believe in good. They are the ones who have stayed true to King Traeven, and to Aeral."

"Traeven? My name's Traeven!! At least, my last name is." Gazaelle paused for a moment, as if she wanted to ask a question, but only nodded and continued on her way. Miriam stumbled over an exposed root, then blurted out, "But where are we going? We're moving very fast, Miss Wood. Can we slow down?"

Gazaelle kept her face forward. "If we slow down the Banu will catch us. I am taking you to Havillah. HE will want to meet you." And they continued through the dark paths.


	5. The Borders of Havillah and the Bridge o...

Chapter 5

Miriam followed Gazaelle through the winding, twisting forest. She could barely keep up with Gazaelle's swift feet, and at times, she felt as though she were being drug through the wood. But, at last, they came to a place where the ground was smoother and Gazaelle slowed her pace.

"We are safe." She said. "They would not dare to follow us into the borders of Havillah."

Miriam said nothing, just held Gazaelle's hand as they walked among the trees. There was grass underfoot now, instead of moss and stones. Sunlight filtered through the leaves and reached the ground in random shafts. The trees were different here, too. They were bigger and taller. The trunk of the smallest sapling was too large for Miriam to put her arms around, and the largest could have held an entire army in its ancient hollows. The trees had no branches until they were hundreds of feet into the air. The forest was solemn. Miriam felt as though she had entered a castle or a beautiful church. The place was both lovely and sacred. Gazaelle stepped lightly from tree to tree, speaking softly. She would reach out her hand and touch a trunk, or spin around another. It was as if she and the trees were dancing. They were dancing to the silent, powerful, tragic music of life.

The moment passed. A long time after the dance, Miriam voiced her query in a whisper. "What was that? That place back there, I mean. It was almost like you and the trees were dancing."

"This forest once held many tree-dances." Gazaelle looked into the wise eyes of the little girl and smiled. "You see much for one so young. Those trees guard the borders of our fair land. They have for many an age." Her voice grew softer and sadder. "Many of them were dear friends."

"What do you mean?"

"There was a time when the trees moved about as freely as do you and I. They spoke to every creature and sang the old world songs." Gazaelle sighed deeply. "It has been long indeed, since I last heard a tree-song."

"Why aren't the trees moving around, now?"

"The trees, like so many of the other good things in Aeral, have gone to sleep."

Miriam cocked her head to one side to think for a moment. "Well then, let's wake them up!"

An eager light filled Gazaelle's eyes, "Do you know the words that will call awake the trees?"

"Um, well, no."

Gazaelle shook her head sadly. "Well, who knows? Perhaps you shall still be the one to awaken the trees from their slumber."

By now they had come to the edge of a wildly rushing river. It leaped at the two figures that stood on its shore as if it would drag them into its savage depths. Gazaelle of the Wood didn't flinch. She turned smiling to the little girl, whose eyes had grown large at the sight of such an untamed river. "This is the Great River of Aeral. Into it flow all of the other rivers. They join together in their race toward the sea." Miriam stared at the water, mesmerized. "Come," said Gazaelle. "We must cross the bridge." With that she stepped confidently off of the bank onto the swirling water. Miriam let out a terrified scream, sure that her new friend would be drug along with the water. Gazaelle took another step, then peered back at Miriam, "Come," she repeated, "We must cross the bridge." 

Miriam gasped out shakily, "What bridge?" but at that exact moment, a shaft of sunlight hit the water in such a way that she could see the bridge. But no bridge like it could ever be found in our world. It spanned the Great River from shore to shore. It swayed majestically in the breeze. The bridge sparkled like a spider's web dipped in morning dew, and that is exactly what it appeared to be. The bridge was made of some type of rope, rope that was fine and fragile. It was delicately wrought so that it was very beautiful to look upon, but, to cross on so delicate a bridge over so fierce a water! Miriam felt for a moment that she would rather face all of the Relations than to cross this bridge, but she had no choice. She took a tentative step onto the bridge and felt it sway with her weight. Gazaelle was walking in front of her and in a moment had reached the other side and was motioning for her to come on. Miriam closed her eyes tightly and ran over the bridge as fast as her legs could carry her.

"That is the bridge of Tar-Nesh. It has hung over the Great River for thousands of years."

Miriam snorted, "Well, I'm jolly glad you didn't tell me that before I stepped on it!"

Gazaelle smiled happily, "Welcome to the Fair Lands! You have entered Havillah!"

And the first part of the journey was over, and the adventures were about to start. 


	6. Meunin elfKing

Chapter 6

Meunin elf-King stood alone on his terrace, his grey eyes unaware of the beauty that surrounded him. He peered out toward the horizon. His thoughts were far from his fairytale land of Havillah and the kingdom of Aeral. In truth, his thoughts rested on his wife. He remembered her as she had been, his sweet, kind, noble wife. She sometimes appeared to him in his dreams, but he never saw her face. He couldn't remember what she looked like, and his very memories of her were fading. At times he would hear her voice in the crooning of the sea. Sometimes he could see her form in the graceful swaying of a birch in the wind. But she always eluded him. He could never fully grasp hold of her in his mind. He was not even aware he was thinking of her until he heard himself whisper her name. 

"Seria." Beautiful Seria. She was gone now. So many of her people were. So many of his people were gone. Aeral had changed. Once Markin had banished King Traeven he had sought to stamp out all opposition. His scouts had even reached Havillah on the eastern border. A great many of the Thurrim had gone out to meet the scouts. They were not prepared to find an army. The army killed every Thurm in the band. They then went to Azmaveth, the fortress of the Orem and slaughtered as many as they could. Seria was one of the Orem; she had been visiting her family and had been killed. She, an innocent woman had been struck down by an armed, armored soldier. The rest of the Orem fled into the woods and watched in horror as Azmaveth burned to the ground. It had been a dark time for all of the peoples of Aeral. The times were no better now, but the newness of the horror had made those first dark years seem even darker. Things were always bad now, and the people of Aeral had come to expect this. Meunin was startled from his musings by the entrance of a page. 

"Milord." He bowed to the ground.

"Rise, Talman. What news have ye?"

"Gazaelle of the Wood seeks an audience with Meunin elf-King. With her is a young one."

"I do not have time to speak with my sister today. I grow weary of her constant pleas for the wood. I can do nothing for the trees. It is time that she accepts the fact that the trees will sleep forever." He waved his hand and turned back to the balcony. A soft clearing of a throat made him turn back around. "More?"

"Milord, your sister thought you might say that. If you did I was instructed to tell you that the name of the child is Miriam Traeven."

Meunin's head snapped up, all of his dreams shattered as the name Traeven penetrated his conscious. His eyes lit up and his breathing quickened. "Traeven?"  


"Yes, milord. Traeven."

Meunin paced impatiently. "Where did my tree-loving sister find this child? No, wait, Talman, don't answer. I shall allow her to tell the story herself. And if this child is who it might be…" His voice faded as he thought of all the good things that this might mean for his country, for Havillah and Aeral. "Come." He told Talman, then walked toward his throne room without even stopping to see if Talman followed him. 


	7. Havillah

Chapter 7

Havillah is a very beautiful place. If anyone gives you the opportunity of taking a vacation there I would highly recommend it. Tall dark trees ring the whole land; some would say that these trees have magic powers to keep all evil out of Havillah. Perhaps it is true, perhaps it is not. It is certain that for hundreds of years no evil had found its way through the borders, but this had perhaps more to do with the land itself, rather than the trees. Inside of the borders, the trees were less wild, more orderly than a forest. There were still plenty of trees inside Havillah, they just stood at the exact location they had been planted and had no scraggly underbrush. A small merry stream broke off from the Great River a few miles north of the bridge of Tar-Nesh and wound its way through the main part of Havillah. 

Havillah is a country within a country. While its inhabitants had always been loyal to the true King of Aeral, they also had their own king. At one time many different tribes of people had been united. It had been called the Great Alliance. The Thurrim and the Orem were two of the five nations that were joined. But that had been many years before the Kings of Aeral. Some petty differences had destroyed the Alliance and the five nations had gone their separate ways. It would have been better for them to have stayed together. Of the five nations only two were still existing. The other three had faded into obscurity, and even their names were forgotten. The Thurrim had always been the greatest of the five, and Meunin had been the King of the Great Alliance.

At one time the Thurrim had been a nomadic group, but hundreds and thousands of years before Miriam set foot in Aeral, and before the Great Alliance, they settled in Havillah. As a remembrance of those travelling years they still lived in tents, but it was only a token remembrance, because many of the tents could not be moved. Often they were two stories tall, crafted of a light wood frame and then covered with the tent curtains. They were lovely to look at, for the coverings were of many colors. All of the wall curtains were pulled back at the frames during the day, and the wind would blow them around with a hearty whipping sound. A great deal of art was put into the making of the pavilions. The tops of the support poles were often carved in different shapes and designs, and the shapes of the tents themselves were as varied as the flowers that scattered over the grass. In the very center of Havillah was a huge grandfather of a tree. A massive tent was built all round the tree. This was the castle of Meunin elf-King. Onto the tree itself a covered balcony had been built. It was in these balcony quarters that the king reposed when he was not busy with matters of state.

Across the great expanse of green grass, growing trees, and colorful tents, walked eight figures. Seven of them were taller then men. The grown woman and the six grown men all had different appearances, yet there was, in their faces, a steady look of dignity and grace that likened each one to the others. The eighth was a child of ten with wavy brown tails of hair, dressed in clothes unlike anything seen before in Aeral. The eight swiftly walked into the palace of Meunin, and the lady proceeded to ask something of a page. The page listened to her words, then paused and took a long look at the child before disappearing up the steps to the king's quarters. 

After a moment a man came speedily down the stairs. Like the others, he was tall, but everything about him bespoke of royalty. He wore a crown made in the fashion of Triton's cap, with one large point in the center of four smaller. He took the lady's hand and touched it to his forehead, then kissed both of her cheeks. The two conversed for a while in their language, then the king turned and looked at the little girl. She may well have wondered why he stared at her for so long, but she could not have known what he saw. She could have no idea that in her dark blue eyes and brown hair, in her smiling but thoughtful face, he saw his king. At last he spoke to her.

"Greetings, Child, I am Meunin: King of the Thurrim, one time Lord of the Great Alliance." Of course the child knew nothing of the Thurrim or of a Great Alliance, but she knew her manners so she shook his hand cordially. He turned back to the lady.

"Gazaelle, where did you find her? How is it that you came to find the Queen of Aeral?"

The little girl never heard the lady's response. The words "Queen of Aeral" were swirling around in her head so she didn't even know when she fainted.


	8. The Council of the Wise

Chapter 8

The instant Gazaelle had told Miriam that they had crossed into Havillah, they had found themselves staring at the very shiny, very sharp points of a half-dozen spears. Miriam had been startled enough to not say a word, but Gazaelle merely smiled and said, "Ne, to Gazaelle ly Yano." Which means roughly, "Stop, I am Gazaelle of the Wood." And evidently, being Gazaelle of the Wood was important, for immediately the spears were lowered and a half-dozen tall figures stepped into view and began conversing with Gazaelle in a language that Miriam didn't know. Once they had everything settled, the seven of them began walking forward. The youngest of the warriors held out his hand to Miriam. Now Miriam was a very smart girl, and she knew that it is never wise to trust a stranger, but she also knew that it is not wise to argue with someone who carries a sword and spear. So she took the warrior's hand.

Miriam had been overwhelmed by the beauty of Havillah, all the while feeling that she had been there before in a dream, but when the strange man had referred to her as being a queen, she felt that it was the last straw in a truly stressful day. She came to herself in a pavilion of blue silk. A woman with silver hair was bending over her and smiled when Miriam opened her eyes.

"Hello my Lyn Eslyn. I am Hatita. Do you feel better after your bit 'o sleep?" She smiled again at Miriam, and Miriam noticed what pretty blue eyes the lady had and the way her silver hair was braided around her head.

"I'm fine, but what did you call me?"

"Lyn Eslyn. It is the old tongue for sweet child."

Miriam smiled at the nice lady. "What is the old tongue?"

"The old tongue was the language of our people, the Thurrim, many years ago. Now most of it is lost. We speak now the common tongue of Rainya."

"Rainya?"

"Rainya is your world, my child!" The silvery Hatita shook her head. "We will go to the king now, I am sure that he has much to speak of with you."

Miriam followed Hatita out of the blue tent and back into the large one where she had met Meunin. He was sitting on a carved throne in the center of the largest part of the tent and Gazaelle was standing beside him. Several other tall men were sitting on chairs all around the throne. They were all solemn and wise looking. Meunin stood as Miriam entered the room.

"Fair advisors, this is the child." At this eight or so pair of eyes turned upon Miriam. "I have brought her to the Council of the Wise so that we may decide among ourselves who she is and what course of action to take."

One of the men stood and Miriam recognized him as the leader of the scouts that had met them at the border. "In my mind, there is no doubt that this child is the heir of Traeven, one has only to look at her face to see the likeness to our king."

Another stood. "To you, Thahan, the likeness may be clear, but to those of us who are more cautious, the likeness seems to be very small indeed. Besides, who knows but that this child was sent by our enemy to trick us?"

Thahan shook his head. "Asahel, if our enemy wished to destroy Havillah, would he not simply send his troops? Why would he waste his time in sending a child?"

Asahel was getting angry. "I have no doubt that the troops could enter our borders. Remember the failure with Azmaveth?"

"My armies were not to be faulted for Azmaveth. They were prepared to talk, not to fight."

"Perhaps they should have been prepared!"

From this point all of the councilors stood on their feet and fought out the battle for Azmaveth again. They were completely diverted from the point and Miriam stood there with wide eyes. At last Meunin stood.

"Be SILENT!!" The advisors were ashamed and hung their heads as they sat. "A house divided among itself cannot stand. No one was to fault for Azmaveth as much as I. I will not hear anymore of this. We are here to decide the fate of Aeral through this child."

Asahel stood slowly. "If it pleases the king, I believe we should here the child's side of the story and make our decision from there." The other advisors mumbled among themselves that this was a wise suggestion, and Meunin nodded his agreement. Miriam was a bit afraid to say anything, but Asahel said, "Please child, tell us who you are and how you came to be in Aeral." So she took a deep breath and talked.

She told them that her Grandfather's name was Traeven that he had come from some other country and made Traeven his last name. She told them how he had been known as David and how his wife's name was Lydia. She told them of the son of Traeven, and the wife that his mother did not approve of. She told them of the death of Joshua and his wife and how she came to live with her grandmother. She told them of the stormy night and of the inscription on the door. Finally she told them about her grandmother's death, the relations, and her escape through the door. When she finished she exhaled a deep breath. It had been hard to talk about her parents and grandmother's deaths.

The council was silent for a long time. At last Meunin spoke. "Is there any doubt?"

One of the advisors who had not yet said anything lifted his head. "The inscription on the door tells all. No one but an heir to the throne could have opened the door. She alone can defeat Markin. She is, in fact, my queen." With this he slid to the floor and bowed low. One-by-one the other advisors did the same. At last Meunin stood from his throne and walked toward Miriam. Kneeling he placed his crown at her feet. "Milady."

Miriam was crying, and she didn't know why. At last Meunin stood and put his crown back on. He led Miriam to his throne and she sat in the place of honor. Meunin took a seat at her right hand and the others sat back in their chairs. Thahan alone stood and spoke.

"Your majesties, since we have decided that this is, in truth, our queen, our next course of action should be to attack Markin and his horde. With one blow we could wipe them out and set Traeven's heir on the throne of Aeral. Once again peace would reign in our fair land."

Meunin smiled. "Well spoken, for a warrior, Thahan. But this decision is for the queen, not for us. What say you, Miriam Traeven's-heir?"

Miriam was unused to be spoken to in this manner by adults, and she stared for a moment before answering. "Well, I don't know much about fighting, or about being a queen. I guess I could try my best."

Asahel nodded at her. Now that he was sure she was the rightful Queen he would serve her with all his heart. "Milady, that is all that we ask of you. We know that you are of tender years, but you are the only one who can hold this throne. We need you." The other councilors spoke their agreement.

Miriam nibbled her lower lip as she thought. Then she gave a short nod, "Alright, I'll do it." The men cheered and she laughed. "We should take the country away from the evil guy. He shouldn't have done bad things." More cheers from her new subjects. "But, are you the only ones who can fight? I mean, there aren't a lot of you."

Thahan stood and bowed, "Milady, we represent only a portion of the fighting strength of Aeral. We are the Wise, but we have yet to call the Faithful. They are those of other races who have remained true to Aeral."

"O yeah!" Miriam shouted, to the amusement of all. "I 'member now, Gazaelle told me about them. Well, shouldn't we ask them what they think? It's their country too, ya know."

Asahel nodded. "Well said, my queen. All of the Faithful should meet their new queen and join in the fight."

Meunin looked at the other members of the Council of the Wise. "Are we all in agreement, then? Should we call a Council of the Faithful?" All of them nodded, and Meunin stood majestically. "Then bring the story-weavers and the song-spinners. Call the hole-diggers, the stargazers, the jewel-makers, the earth-people, and the water-people. Bring them all and let them know that the queen has returned to her people." 


	9. Night

Chapter 9

Miriam's eyes opened suddenly. She had been sleeping for several hours, and it was now in the middle of the night. Something had awakened her, but what? She lay silently on her pallet, listening.

A clear night in Aeral is a beautiful sound. In our world, the stars are distant, cold, and silent. In Aeral their voices peal through the darkness and warm the heart. They sing beyond comprehension, their tuneless hymn more beautiful than anything the human ear has ever heard. Some sing in high twinkling voices, others have deep and throbbing voices. The song of the stars is in perfect harmony with the far off river sounds, the nearby brook's laugh, the deep cry of the sea, and the sweet whispers of the wind.

Miriam sat up startled. A deliciously cool breeze had swept over her face, but that was impossible. All of the curtains in the pavilion had been closed. Something, or someone, was calling to her to come out of the tent. Without really knowing why, she wrapped herself in a blanket and walked out into the night.

It was even more beautiful to see than to hear. The moonlight and the starlight had transformed beautiful Havillah into a magical wonderland. The sky was filled with some sort of creature that she had never seen before. They were as delicate as a butterfly, shone like a firefly, and flew with the grace of an eagle. Miriam stepped through the dewy grass and watched the pretty creatures. The star song and the lovely night filled her with joy. She lifted her hands to the sky and laughed. She barely noticed her blanket slide to the ground.

She had to dance. She simply had to. With lifted hands she laughed and spun. She ran through the grass and chased the bright creatures. But they were not afraid. It was a game and they knew it. Finally Miriam fell breathless to the ground. She didn't notice when the flitting creatures stilled; she didn't feel the wind stop blowing, and she was not aware of the dramatic change in the star song. The she heard a voice. 

"I have waited long for you to meet me in this place."


	10. Elyon

Chapter 10

She had not been expecting to see anyone, yet somehow she was not afraid, but at the same time she felt an awe-filled terror. This feeling intensified when she saw the speaker. He walked out toward her from the trees. A sort of light surrounded him and threw the woods into deep shadows. He moved swiftly and smoothly toward her. When Gazaelle walked, she seemed so much a part of the earth that she glided on its breath. This person was different. All of the things that would have stood in his way, rocks and grass and mounds of dirt, bowed and moved to one side, letting him pass. He walked gently, but with the air of ownership.

Miriam could scarcely breath, much less speak, but she managed to stutter"Who are you"

His eyes glowed with some inner fire as he said"I am." At his simple declaration, the stars sang in such a way that Miriam could understand their words.

**"He unleashes his lightning beneath the whole heaven and sends it to the ends of the earth."**

He was close to her as he said" I am known by many names."

**"After that comes the sound of his roar; he thunders with his majestic voice. When his voice resounds he holds nothing back."**

He stood before her. "Here I am known as Elyon."

**"He parted the heavens and came down."**

He smiled at Miriam and as he did the glow around him seemed to fade. Miriam could see that he was a man, at least, he looked like a man, but his eyes held a depth of compassion, pity, sadness, hope, and joy that Miriam had never seen before. He sat down beside her and looked at the stars as she was doing. They were now singing in their unknown language.

They sat in companionable silence for a while, then Miriam said"Where I come from the stars don't do that."

He smiled again and recited"Day after day they pour forth speech; night after night they display knowledge. There is no speech or language where their voice is not heard. Their voice goes out into all the earth, their words to the end of the world." He tilted his head toward her. "That was said of your stars."

Miriam frowned. "How can you know about my stars"

Elyon sighed. "I know a great many things, daughter."

She looked down at the grass. "I don't understand."

He patted her shoulder kindly. "You will someday, but now we must talk of your purpose here."

"My purpose"

"Yes, you were called here for a special reason."

"I was called"

There was laughter in Elyon's voice as he said"Come a little closer, keep on stepping nearer, destiny awaits."

Miriam's eyes widened as she recognized the little rain chant. "Was that you"

He nodded. "I have many voices to those who listen."

Miriam was not quite sure she understood, but she knew she would do whatever was asked of her. "Well, what do you want me to do"

Elyon smiled at her for a moment, then looked away. She didn't think he was going to answer, but finally he spoke softly. "My people have forgotten me. In their times of trouble they do not even remember my name." His voice grew heavy with sorrow. "How many times I have longed to gather their children to me as a hen gathers her chicks, but they would not have me. I have walked among their tents and holes and houses, looking for one among them who remembers me, but found none." He turned to look at her, and Miriam was surprised at the tears in his eyes. "So I have called upon you, Miriam, granddaughter of Traeven, king of Aeral. You will become their queen, and you will turn their hearts to me once again."

Miriam gave a little gasp. "But – how am I supposed to lead these people? I'm just a little girl, and they're grownups. They'd never listen to me"

Elyon's face was intense. "I will be with you. I will give you the words to say. You will be strong in the power of my might."

Miriam said the first thing that came to her mind and was surprised at how grown-up she sounded. "Let it be unto me as you have said."

Elyon laughed then, and Miriam thrilled at the sound. His voice was joyous. "If only all of my people had the faith of a child." He took her hand. "Don't worry about what to do. I'll tell you when the time comes. Don't get discouraged and don't get depressed. I'll be with you wherever you go."

As he spoke the night seemed to get lighter. The images swirled around before Miriam's eyes. Suddenly she awoke. It was morning.


	11. In the Dark Land

Chapter 11

Far past the borders of Havillah, beyond the mounds of the Earth-people and the ruins of Azmaveth, lies the Old Mountain. It swells so high into the above that only in the last rays of the setting sun is its summit visible. From its skirts flows the First River, largest and greatest of its kin. Further down, the First River divides and becomes the Young River in the east and the Great River in the west. The Young River passes away into the east until it meets the Three Sisters and together they flow into a distant sea. In the west the Great River increases as it moves to the sea and becomes a dangerous tide. 

The land between the Young and Great Rivers is shaped like an arrowhead pointing toward the Old Mountain. In that point is a ring of mountains known in these days as the dark hills. Within times past they were the King's Orchard, and weary travelers paused to eat of their fruit before holding an audience with the king. By some unknown art or magic these hills now stretched cold and barren to the sky, forbidding in their strength. The only passages between the hills are the watchtowns of Seshak and Ashkenaz. Their towers make never ending vigil over the solemn paths and in those places never a friendly smile is seen.

The region inside the orchards had been one of peace and grace. The magical hues of its earth and trees, flowers and lakes had been such as to inspire the souls of all who saw it. Never in our world could we hear such music and tales as those that sprung from those golden days. But like all of Aeral, this too had been desecrated. Of the flowers and trees nothing remained. Black, putrid, lakes spilled their waters over the stinking bare earth. Over the whole land was settled an unnatural stillness.

Of all of the structures of the old settlement, only one had not been razed to the ground. Even the most audacious sinner dared not approach to defile the noble palace of King Traeven. It stood, year after year, watching with somber and grieving eye on the desolation of its companions. The Banu had built their own slipshod dwellings, but they were not built to improve the landscape. Rather by their very presence they sought to degrade the land on which they stood. Of these the worst was built on a small rise facing Traeven's palace. It was low to the ground and seemed to spread out endlessly. It looked out on stern contempt at the land of which it was lord.

It was to this particular edifice, the castle of Markin, that Wolfmar, a spy of the Banu came one moonlit night. To se the way he scampered over rock and stream on all fours, his iron gray hair obscuring his skeletal face, one would never have known that he had once been a handsome man and a great scholar among his people. He knocked at the great doors and was brought before his captain by a silent shadow of a man. Marduk was an impressive figure among the Banu and one to be feared, yet Wolfmar's news was fearful even to him. With a guttural growl he motioned for Wolfmar to follow as he tramped into the great hall of Markin. 

Markin had also been a man once, but not even a likeness of manhood could be seen in his features. He was fascinating in his grotesques. Wolfmar's news was unpleasant to him as well:

"A child was seen on Door Hill. It is believed that she came through the door. She was taken into the borders of Havillah by one of the Thurrim. Emissaries of Meunin are departing to all corners of Aeral. It is believed that he is summoning a council of war."

Markin hissed between his teeth. This could cause problems. If all of the faithful followers of Traeven gathered together against him he could be defeated. Markin's true power was not one of military might, but one of intimidation. While the peoples of Aeral believed that he was in control, he was in control. But if they were to realize how weak he truly was… This news about the child didn't bother him much. It was most likely that she was one of the Thurrim. The spies in the south were imbeciles. He mulled over her presence. The legends said that one day an heir of Traeven would come through the door and overthrow him. If she were the one spoken of, it could mean trouble for him. But then, she was only a child. "One child is easily dealt with." He growled. But this insurrection in the South must be crushed before it began. Perhaps it was time that he once again make a display of power. He had killed the Thurrim and Orem and burned Azmaveth to the ground. This time he would go for the heart. He would attack Havillah. 


	12. Rainy Day

Chapter 12

The rain drummed steadily against the canopy. Miriam sighed. She had wanted to go exploring today, but the weather was ruining her plans. Hatita bustled about the tent folding blankets and putting away the pallets. Three of the side curtains were down to keep the rain from blowing inside of the tent, but the fourth was up and Miriam sat beside it watching the rain fall. "This isn't very fun!" She complained glancing at Hatita.

Hatita shook her head. "Eslyn, the rain will pass. When it does you may play outside to your heart's content." The others of Havillah may have treated Miriam with deference, but Hatita had been the nurse of too many little princes and princesses to bother treating this little girl any different. It was true that she was the queen of all Aeral, and it was also true that she was wiser and more solemn then most little girls her age. Hatita wasn't impressed, though. All little girls should be treated the same was her motto.

Miriam turned from Hatita back to the rain. No one ventured outside in such nasty weather. No wait – there was someone out there. Miriam scrambled to her feet. "Hatita! Who is that out in the rain?" She asked excitedly.

Hatita gracefully walked to stand beside Miriam. She smiled when she recognized the figure dancing between the raindrops. She had never been able to convince that charge to come out of the rain. She patted Miriam's shoulder and sat down on a blue ottoman. "That's my Gazaelle, Lyn Eslyn. Now, I'm done with my cleaning. Would you like to hear a story?"

Miriam sat thoughtfully beside Hatita and watched Gazaelle flit from tree to tree. She gathered the raindrops from where they had collected on a leaf and drank them gleefully. She seemed to be laughing and singing as the rain fell upon her hair and clothes. Though it was raining heavily, Gazaelle did not seem to become wet. Miriam wondered if Gazaelle's twinkling feet moved her swiftly out of the path of the drops or if the rain itself graciously would not fall on her head. "Hatita," she said at last, "Tell me the story of Gazaelle of the Wood."

The nurse smiled, for it was a tale she loved to share. The rain fell as it would, but Miriam was swept off to happier times.

Far to the North and East of Havillah are three rivers. The rivers flow from three mountains. Both the rivers and the mountains are called the three sisters for an easily explained reason. Deep in each of the three mountains lives a very old woman. They have lived there for as long as the mountains have been in Aeral. That is a very long time indeed. If one can believe legend they were old women when they first arrived in Aeral. They are, of course, sisters, and what's more they are jewel-makers. Jewel making is a very old practice. No one except the jewel makers themselves really knows how it is done. Anyone wishing to become a jewel-maker should apply to Niya, Ziha, or Siaha. It isn't likely that they will accept an apprentice, though, as they never have. Niya is thought to be the eldest of the sisters, or at least she is the one in charge. She lives in the center and largest of the three mountains. Ziha and Siaha answer to her. 

Though the official job description of the Three Sister is jewel-maker, they also dabble in prophesy. They often tell the parents of a newborn what the child will be when he is grown. They are not often correct, but it is a sort of tradition for important families to summon the Three Sisters to a child's christening. On this occasion Niya, Ziha, and Siaha were travelling southwest for a special occasion. Ater, the king of the Great Alliance (father of present king Meunin) and his wife Ryleiah had just given birth to their second child, a girl. The sisters were excited to see the new little one, although they would not have admitted that for all of the jewels in their mountains. They tended to be a little gruff. It was a normal product of spending too much time with one's sisters. 

When Niya, Ziha, and Siaha arrived at Havillah they found the whole place in uproar. All of the tribes of the Great Alliance had come together to celebrate the birth of the princess. They had been awaiting only the arrival of the sisters for the festivities to begin. The jewel-makers limped straight to the palace of Meunin without stopping to talk to anyone. (Seeing as they were old without number, all three of the little wrinkled sisters used a cane.) When they reached the main entrance to the palace Niya stepped straight in and motioned for her sisters to follow. A guard stopped them, "Pardon ladies, but may I ask who you are and what your business is with the king?" Now the guard knew good and well who the sisters were, and Niya knew he knew. He was just doing his job by asking questions. The guard was a very dignified man but Niya didn't let that bother her. 

"Young man, I was who I am and going about my business while you were crawling about on the floor and crying for milk. I am here by the king's invitation. Now kindly step aside." Niya may not have been a very large woman, but she had a way of intimidating a person so that they thought better of pestering her. None of the other guards bothered stopping Niya after the way she cut their fellow down, and the three sisters arrived in the throne room unhampered and unannounced. The King and Queen and a few of their closest friends were gathered around a little cradle admiring the new arrival. They turned at the sound of a throat clearing. There stood the famous jewel-makers. Niya had her pure white hair done up intricately on her head and diamonds shone from the large mass. Her gown was bright red and a large ruby was the top of her cane. Beside her was Ziha, her sour expression contradicting the fact that she lived in great wealth and comfort. Her hair was silver gray and cut close to her head. She wore a plain dress of green and the stone on her cane was an emerald. The baby of the family, Siaha, had long iron gray hair that she wore in two braids. She wore a pretty purple gown and the stone in her cane and the stones in her dainty tiara were amethysts. 

King Ater quickly welcomed them properly and brought them to see the baby. Siaha exclaimed at what a pretty baby she was then tried to cover it up by saying that she was pretty only as babies go. Ziha scowled and said that she was awful tiny and not likely to grow up healthy. To do her justice, though, in her heart she thought the baby uncommonly pretty. Niya just barely glanced at the baby and got right to the business of asking her name. It was Queen Ryleiah that answer and told her they had planned to call the baby Gazaelle. While Siaha said that it was such a pretty name – for a baby and Ziha sniffed that they might have chosen something sensible like Heritanna, Niya nodded sharply and got right to the business of prophesying. 

"She'll grow up pretty, marry well, and have nice children." Niya was always practical and that prophesy was agreeable to the parents. Niya was done but Ziha and Siaha wanted to have their say.

Ziha snorted. "What a silly thing to say. She'll be a hard worker. She'll build and clean and such. She might design you some new houses. Then you won't have to live in crummy tents." That was a bit offensive to the parents. A little princess would not be an architect! Besides, their tents were very nice. 

Siaha gave the most pleasing prophesy. "She'll be a little musician. Buy a harp for her as soon as possible. She'll play wonderful music – that is – I'm sure she'll try her best but I can't guarantee that she'll be any good." Siaha was always trying to be as grumpy as her sisters but could never quite do it. Ater and Ryleiah would have like for their little girl to play a harp. But the sisters were not content.

"She's not going to play any silly harp! She's a sturdy child and just meant for building." Ziha seemed to forget that she had doubted the baby had enough strength to grow up.

"You are both being ridiculous. She's a nice child but no different from any other. She'll marry and have children like a nice little girl." From here the argument became more and more heated until a large wooden cane smacked the ground in front of the and a deep voice said, "That will be enough!"

It was Quet, the Weaver of Stories. If the Three Sisters were old, and if they were legendary, the Story-weaver was ancient and mythical. He was tall and broad, with a long pointed white beard. His face was wrinkled but pleasant and he covered his head with a black hood. Quet wore a long blue gown that tied about his waist with a black sash and carried a staff. Across his back was slung a loom. That was where he wove the stories. At least, that's what legend says. Quet lived on the Old Mountain, and had lived there for a long long time. Some people believe that he lived on the Old Mountain before there was a single living soul in Aeral. He knew every story ever told. He could tell you what happened yesterday or he could tell you what happened before you were born. Quet never forgot things. No one really knew what he used his loom for, but some said that all day long he sits on his mountain and weaves out the stories as they happen. Some said that he weaves out the stories before they happen, and when he throws the tapestries off of the mountain the stories come to pass. No one knew for sure and Quet was held in high honor. When he had entered Havillah the festivities had ceased and the celebrators had quietly follow Quet to the palace. No guard stopped him from entering the throne room. If Quet wanted an audience with the king it must be very important. 

Quet strode to the cradle and looked at the baby. He smiled. "This is Gazaelle?" No one said a word. The king finally nodded when Quet had been staring at him for a long time. Quet smiled again and picked up the baby. "She shall not build or play or marry, though she may do all three if her heart desires. The trees have long been in need of a guardian. There has not been a wood-friend in this land for many years." He lifted the baby up and kissed her forehead. "Little one, you shall be called Gazaelle of the Wood. You shall not know danger so long as you stay by the trees. Your heart will be content to dance beneath their boughs and sing their songs. For as long as you are a friend to the trees you shall be safe from harm." He then set her down again in her cradle, looked around at the gathered crowd, then gathered his staff and left. For a moment no one said a word, then noise exploded as everyone began to talk at once. The Three Sisters were offended that Quet should try to take their job and were only pacified when the King begged them to stay for the feast. 

After a few months people began to forget the scene made at the cradle of Gazaelle, and it was not long before no one remembered that Quet had said she would love the trees. Only her nurse remembered. So it was no surprise to the nurse when the little girl began to take and interest in the trees. Only the nurse did not think it amusingly odd that the baby's first word was "tree." By the time Gazaelle was seven years old it was obvious that she loved the woods. People began to remem Quet's words, and when Gazaelle was eleven people began to think of her as Gazaelle of the Wood. The little girl loved to sit beneath a tree for hours. Sometimes she would sing to the trees, and sometimes the trees would sing back. They were her playmates and her teachers, and she soon knew all the secrets of the forests. People knew she was different, but they did not think her odd. In those days it was not strange to talk to the trees, and often people of Havillah attended parties given by the woods. For a long time Gazaelle was happy with the trees. But then trouble came. Markin banished King Traeven from Aeral and destroyed the town of Azmaveth. Meunin's wife Seria was killed and the trees became afraid. They did not wish to be burned, so they quietly went to sleep. 

When Markin took the throne the rain stopped. Not the ordinary rain, that still came regularly. The special rain of Aeral, the silver shower that is the food of the trees, ceased to fall in season. Without it the trees fell into a deeper and deeper sleep. No one knows now if they can ever be awakened. Only one person still hopes. She sings the trees to sleep, but they don't sing back. She is their playmate and teacher, and she knows all of the secrets of the forest. The trees need a friend in times like these, and she is there for them. They still protect her, even in their sleep, and she never leaves their sides.

Hatita's voice trailed off dreamily and she stood and walked away. The rain had stopped but Miriam did not notice. She was too busy thinking about the little girl who sang to the trees.


	13. Bazaluth of the Holediggers

West of Havillah and north of the sea were a group of mountains known collectively as the Hills of the Hole-diggers. If the mountains had any other name it was known only to the Hole-diggers themselves, and they were not inclined to share their secrets with outsiders. When Aeral had been ruled by its right king they had walked the land trading their fine metal work for the wood, clay, and cloth objects the other inhabitants did not make themselves. When Markin overthrew Traeven and began his reign of Aeral travel became dangerous and trading and buying illegal, so the Hole-diggers retreated to their hills and dug their tunnels and caves deeper into the mountain-side. They spent many silent years sharpening their arrows and strengthening swords.

The entrance of each family's cave was nearly invisible. Clever stone masonry made each joint so tightly fitted, and each corner so cunningly contrived, that careless passers-by would see only a rough wall or an inconspicuous pile of stones. Behind the doors were rooms sized according to the wealth of the owner. Some were no more than shallow caves, barely thirty feet into the mountainside; others were as large as castles, delving deep into the heart of the Hills. The door to each home was carved in the language of the Hole-diggers with the name of the owner. The writing though would seem to your eyes no more then the natural way that stone chips and wears away by time.

To one such of these doors came the swift feet of Ashhar, messenger of Meunin. In one hand he held a message written on a scroll and in the other a detailed description and sketch of a particular door. Stopping in front of a smooth wall of the mountain he stamped his foot twice on the ground and cried out loudly"To Bazaluth, Chief of the Hole-diggers, from Meunin, Leader of the Wise and the Faithful, once King of the Great Alliance and Lord of Havillah still - Hail"

After a moment there was a scraping noise and the stone wall moved backward a few inches. After a short pause the wall, which was of course one of the very doors I have just described, moved several feet back and slid to the right smoothly as if it ran on some sort of track. The opening it left was about five feet tall and five feet wide. Leaning against one side of the door frame was a young Hole-digger.

The Hole-diggers are, as you may have guessed, of Dwarf-kind, being at most four feet high and being nearly as far across as they are tall. They are gruff and war-like, more likely to sharpen a blade in time of rest than to sing a song. Yet for all their roughness they make beautiful things from iron, steel, gold, and silver. All the nations of Aeral once came to the Hole-diggers to be fitted for war. Under the mountains there was a constant glow from many forges. If they ever sing it is as they hammer steel, and the songs are strong and fierce – songs of war and weapons.

The Hole-digger who greeted Ashhar at the door was about three feet tall with thick black hair pulled in a severe knot at the nape of the neck away from a square, reddish face. She was a house-maid, for the owner of this cave was well-to-do and his cave was the largest of all, and he had to hire many servants to keep it clean and running well. The maid dropped a clumsy bow to Ashhar and murmured for him to follow her to her master.

Ashhar ducked through the door and was surprised to find himself in a large hall. The room was lit by fires in cast iron braziers that threw shadows onto the roof some thirty feet above. The floor had been patterned to look like tile, and iron statues were placed about the room, giving it more a feeling of a courtyard then a room indoors. The maid halted impatiently at the far side of the hall as Ashhar inspected his surroundings. He heard her clear her throat, a harsh sound that echoed off the walls, and hurried to follow her. She led him through more passages and rooms then he could count, until the realization of how deep into the mountain he was nearly smothered him. When they had passed from the largest and grandest halls, no doubt rooms with grand important purposes, they came into a place where the ceiling was lower overhead and the hallways were narrower. This Ashhar judged to be the living quarters of the family. They halted at last before a plain wooden door and the maid told him to wait while she announced him to the master. He leaned against the cool wall of the passage way and tried not to think of earthquakes or landslides.

He had barely caught his breath when the maid came back through the door and told Ashhar to enter the room beyond. He nodded his thanks and tiptoed into the fire lit room beyond. When his eyes had adjusted to the different light he saw the he was in a much smaller room than any he had yet been in. His head brushed the ceiling and a few paces would have taken him across the length of the room. Stone shelves, beautifully carved into the walls around the room, held few books (those of war and the art of metal work) and many tools and weapons. By the fireplace was a low seat in which the only occupant of the room sat. He was a bit larger then the maid, perhaps four feet when standing, and his grizzled black hair stood out all over his head and face. He was dressed for casual lounging in woolen breeches and cotton shirt, but on his feet he wore a pair of wooden and leather shoes that had a curved metal spike on the toe. He turned to look on Ashhar with gleaming dark eyes.

Motioning at the fire with a rough hand he said"The smoke flows through a find mesh screen, knocking the ash back on the fire. The smoke is then forced through dozens of small outlets where it is released all over the mountains. 'Mountains of Smoke' they're called by the people of the West." He looked at Ashhar and seemed to expect a reply.

Ashhar had not asked about the fire but he nodded as if he was getting the answer to a question"It's a very ingenious design. That way no one knows that you are here in these caves."

The Hole-digger gave a short bark of a laugh. "Not our design. It's the design of those Star-gazers. They're much better at deceit then our people ever were. Whenever their heads aren't in the clouds they are inventing some new magic that will woo the locals to their side."

Ashhar shifted from foot to foot uncomfortably. The feud between the Star-gazers and Hole-diggers was legendary, even though no outsiders knew how it started. The dwarves claimed that they did not share their secrets with others, but many in Aeral held to the view that the dwarves themselves did not remember the cause of the feud but were too stubborn to let it go. Whatever the case was, Ashhar did not have time, nor inclination, to sit listening to an old Hole-digger revive the feud. "I am looking for Bazaluth, Chief "

The other interrupted him."Chief of the Hole-diggers. I know. My maid relayed your whole speech to me. I noticed though that you gave a lot more titles to your king than you did to me. I could think of a lot more to add." The Hole-digger laughed a hacking sort of cough and fumbled in a chest near his feet until he found a piece of red flannel that he tied around his throat. "Helps the coughing, see." He explained.

Ashhar cleared his throat softly and said"Then you're Bazaluth"

"In the flesh." The old dwarf said standing from his chair and bowing slightly. Though he knew better how to do it, still his bow did not have much more grace than that of his little maid.

The messenger bowed, now on familiar ground and began his message in his most officious, grand manner. "I am Ashhar, messenger of Meunin, Leader of -" It was going beautifully, in the most melodious of tones, envied by every other messenger, but once again he was interrupted.

"Yes, yes," growled Bazaluth, plopping himself back in his chair, "No need to go through all the titles again. Etc, etc. will do." Ashhar opened his mouth, but Bazaluth spoke again"Oh, please sit! My wife tells me I am lacking in all courtesy. 'Courtesy makes for long delays,' I tell her, but she insists. Here sit" motioning Ashhar to a chair. If Ashhar was thinking that idle talk makes even longer delays he kept that thought to himself.

Trying once again to get to the point of his visit he said"I am Ashhar" Again his host interrupted. "You said that part. Ashhar, eh? Rather odd name that. In the old tongue it means 'to hear death,'" he gave a great bark of laughter that rather startled Ashhar. "I hope that's not an omen. Perhaps I should see you out before some ill befalls me, eh" He raised his eyebrows and leaned close to the messenger.

"My- my mother died soon after hearing my first cries. She called me Ashhar because my voice to her was the voice of death" Ashhar stuttered.

"And then some fool thought it would be amusing to let you be a messenger for Meunin," he stopped a moment to savor the irony then continued. "Every time you say your name you say, 'Hear Death!' and the very next thing that comes from your mouth is, 'I bring you a message.'" His startling laugh erupted again"What a merry joke" When the last of his guffaws faded away he sat and looked expectantly at Ashhar. The poor messenger said nothing, though. The last comment had rendered Ashhar speechless.

"Speak messenger, speak" said Bazaluth with an irritated motion. "What did Meunin find of so great importance that he sent a messenger all the way here" Ashhar made a muted grunt as he tried to gather his thoughts but Bazaluth growled out"You do not talk! Did your king send a mute to relay a message"

Ashhar decided that it was useless to attempt to speak again and merely handed the scroll to Bazaluth with no further ceremony. "About time," the dwarf grumbled. Bazaluth broke the seal and cast it carelessly into the fire, unrolling the scroll and scanning it quickly. His eyes grew large as he read and a fell look came into his eyes.

When he had finished the scroll dropped unheeded from his hand onto the floor; his eyes stared unseeingly at the wall. After a long silence he spoke hoarsely"So the line of the kings of Aeral is not broken. An heir has been found - one who could take up the throne and overthrow Markin."

Bazaluth's eyes burned brighter than the fire when he turned to Ashhar. "I, my people, we have waited long for this. We have needed only a word, a thought, a breath of uprising against Markin to be ready to fight. We will come. Take this message back to your lord of Havillah:

"The Hole-digger comes

Chief of his kin

Three Times

Bow before the Queen of the Door.

The mighty dwarf drums

Will sound again

Three Times!

Hole-diggers go to War"

Ashhar leapt from his chair and sped back through the labyrinth halls to relay the message. Bazaluth, meanwhile, collected his fierce weapons from the shelves in the room and trotted to the smithy to sharpen them.


	14. Enter darkness

It is one of the paradoxical truths of life that the most beautiful times of the day are morning and night, neither of which is really day. It is the same in Aeral, specifically in Havillah. The mornings are pale and misty like a pearl just pulled from the sea. The sweet anticipation of the entire world is born anew in the fresh morning. The nights are even more beautiful. The mornings are full of fresh potential of what could be. The nights are the realization of the dream, the award for a hard day's work.

In the night all of the sins and evils of the day sink into the ground and disappear. Fears are swallowed up in the breathless silence. Over Havillah the twilight is enchanting, and the final moment when darkness falls is unbearably lovely. The night breeze dances over the tents, now closed against the chill, setting bells to tinkling softly. Ever present is the soft moaning of the sea, almost inaudible during the day, but a gentle lullaby to soothe the night. For an hour after the sun sets the whole of the Bedouin village, it is alight with the glow of lanterns and the drowsy laughter and songs of after-dinner festivities. But all of that soon fades away as the lamps are blown out and peace settles in. Night in Havillah is like the moment between breaths when you hear and see everything with perfect clarity. All of creation is holding its breath for the beauty of the night... the brilliant stars overheard so bright, so remote, yet friendly.

There is a short time of this perfect silence, which seem impossible to improve upon, until the stars begin singing. There is nothing on this earth that compares to this wonderful sound. The only way I can describe it to you is to have you to think of the most beautiful music you have ever heard, sung in the most angelic voices in the world. Then imagine that instead of hearing these voices over the radio or from a choir loft, you are hearing them coming from the sky, on a perfectly clear and lovely night in Aeral, with the sounds of the sea and the tinkling of bells and the groaning noises of trees keeping in perfect harmony. Even then, as wonderful as you can imagine that to be, it cannot come even close because the voices of the stars themselves are so different from human voices and the melody they sing so complicated for human ears, that it is really impossible to imagine. You just have to hear it for yourself.

The particular night in which I am interested started just the same as any other night. Once the Thurrim had eaten their evening meal and told all of the stories and sang all of the songs that they could for one night, they went their separate ways to their own tents, let down the curtains, and extinguished their lanterns. For an hour it was completely silent, and it was during the time that every person in Havillah fell into a deep sleep. Then the stars began their song and the jewel-like butterflies that Miriam had seen before appeared from who knows where and began filling the night sky. Anyone who would have awakened and come from his tent would have been caught up in the wild beauty. He would never have guessed that something evil was entering Havillah.

The woods that were Havillah's border had magical powers to protect the city, but there were limits to what the trees could do. An army moving through the forest would send the trees into a frenzy that would catch the attention of every living being for miles, and a single creature entering unauthorized would be dealt with quickly. There were, though, ways of defeating the trees, especially since they were asleep. For instance, if the infiltrator passed through the woods carefully absent of feelings of hate, the trees would be unable to recognize the threat. They still would not allow him to enter Havillah, but they would merely crowd together until the stranger was forced to turn back, rather than – well - perhaps it is best not to say what the trees would do to anyone who entered the woods bent on destruction. Trees can be fearfully unforgiving, I am afraid, even trees who are asleep. The river that ran through Havillah was a defense of its own, so wild and terrifying it was, but as an added security there were guards posted all along the shore, especially near the bridge. All things considered it was very safe, and it needed to be in these sorts of times, but guards cannot see everywhere, and even the best of them is subject to weakness.

On this night a group of guards was posted at the point where the river first enters the woods of Havillah. The trees grew straight up from the bank here, close to the river, arching over it, able to slam down like a wall if any unfriendly persons tried to cross. This night, though, they were more deeply asleep than ever. The tops of the trees drooped low and limp, so that some of the branches hung in the water, like a lazy boy trailing his fingers through the ripples. The guards were vigilant, and even on this peaceful night they stood alert, silent as shadows, not speaking to each other and not moving unless it was necessary. This was considered the weakest part of their country, so only the best guards were sent to watch here. They were so intent on listening for anything out of the ordinary that they never noticed how strangely the trees were acting. They didn't notice the thick grey fog rolling in until it had lessened visibility so much that they could only see a few feet past their own posts. The fog made them nervous. It was unusual for a fog to roll down the river in this way. They strained their eyes and ears, starting at every rustle of the leaves. After a few minutes the fog rapidly lifted and they found themselves staring at each other again with wide frightened eyes.

"What was that?" one of them mouthed. But none of the others knew. They had not seen the strange creature riding the current down the river. It floated with the swift water, not fighting the current at all except to keep its mottled greeny-grey head above the water. Its large fish eyes glowed a little in the moonlight as it lifted its flat paddle-like hands one at a time out of the water and then pushed the down again. The paddling was meant the keep the creature in control of the situation, not to break away from the current. On the creature rushed, sometimes swirling in the eddies, and sometimes being lifted up out of the water when the main current hit a cross current. It would have been a terrifying ride for most creatures, but this little creature was too focused on his goal. He was busy watching the landmarks that passed by. He was waiting for one moment when he would use all of his strength… now! All six limbs rose from the water and came crashing down at once, the impact tossing him several feet in the air, but instead of smacking back against the water he appeared to float in mid-air. The creature grinned toothily. He had done it perfectly. His limbs were entangled in the bridge of Tar Nesh.

The guards posted at the end of the bridge had sprung into action the moment they heard the loud splash. It might have been just a log, but then again, it might not have been. They drew their weapons and advanced toward the bridge, making no noise as they moved. Their eyes strained in the dark, but they saw nothing. There were no further strange sounds, and no movement except for the water. The guards looked uneasily at their leader who was watching the river with his jaw clenched. He stood on, saying nothing as the minutes ticked away. They stood there, motionless in the moonlight for an hour before the leader let out a short breath and glided away. The others took their cue from him and melted back into the shadows. They would still be alert, but evidently the noise had been nothing unusual. On the bridge the little creature grinned his wolfish grin again. Patience always won out, and now he was free to enter Havillah. He slunk across the swaying bridge and jumped lightly to the side where the shadows could keep him hidden. His flat feet made no sound as he landed in the mud, still, he remained frozen until he was sure that the guards had noticed nothing. Nodding in satisfaction to himself he lowered his other sets of limbs to the ground and loped off. He needed somewhere to hide while he carried out his mission.


End file.
